


Casa de los Espíritus

by Raisans_Grapeon



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Consensual Possession, Demons, Ghosts, Possession, Protective Ryan, Shane Madej Ghost Hotel, Shane Madej Is Shook, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-15 02:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: When investigating the Attmore-Oliver House in New Bern, North Carolina, Ryan brings up a script he found while researching that lets a spirit latch onto a living soul. Jokingly, he suggests that Shane reads the spell. Of course, Shane takes him very seriously.Now Shane has turned into a literal ghost hotel, spirits and demons finding suitable lodging in Shane's tall ass body. But of course, those things arn't real.Right?





	1. Veni Foras, et Iterum Vivere

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: https://lieutenantdick.tumblr.com/post/182227459451/trying-to-lure-out-a-demon-ryan-asks-shane-to-say
> 
> So this is fun. I have so many fan fiction projects but heck this looks like a hoot. 
> 
> Anyway, I am not a professional, and I am not majoring in English. I am not the best at this and any criticism is welcomed along with just general comments, all keep the motivation going. 
> 
> Thank you and enjoy.

“Shane, I swear to God, I was joking!,” Ryan practically whined as his lanky friend snached his phone away, and held it just out of Ryan’s grasp. Without a hiccup, Shane read off the Latin with reckless abandon. Ryan figured it was his fault for thinking that Shane would take this seriously. Why should a skeptic be scared about whatever entity could attach itself to his soul.

The ghoul boys were on location at the Attmore-Oliver House in New Bern, North Carolina. Supposedly, the house was haunted by the souls of the previous owners, the Chapmans, Attmores, and Olivers. Some had suggested that it was actually a poltergeist, but that had yet to be proven so far on the sweep that the two were conducting. The house was well maintained, being preserved by the New Bern Historical Society. Some wear and tear could be seen, especially around the older area, where original house was made for Samuel Chapman, a retired Continental Army officer. The moon was full and the gossamer light was draped across the house’s dining room. The sky was clear, and the summer air warmed the house comfortably. Shane and Ryan had investigated the ground floor, wandering through the main office, and the museum. It included a Dining Room, Sitting Room and a Parlor, where they conducted EVP sessions and some spirit box sessions. They were just leaving the Dining Room to go upstairs when Ryan had remembered he bookmarked a script that was supposed to invite a demon or ghost to attach themself to the soul of a living person. They were currently in one of the more active areas, inside the section of the original house that had been built in the 1790’s, and the spirit box and gave Ryan plenty of gargled noises to comb over later. He figured he could bring it up to Shane, let his friend get a quick glance at it, joke, and move on to the rest of the house. Of course, Shane had to reach his long, noodle arm over Ryan’s shoulder and yoink his phone out of his hands.

“Ego invite vos, spiritus longum praeteritum.” Shane began to read, his Latin intentionally clumsy.

“Shane! Stop it, I’m serious!” Ryan tried to scale Shane to reach his phone, but the man just stepped away. Shane made eye contact with Ryan for a brief second. Mischief, and a sickening satisfaction glinted deep within his dark brow eyes. His grin was wide, causing his eyes to crinkle with glee.

Another moment, and Shane was up to it again. “Ut unum ex vobis, qui vult facere…”

Ryan let out a distressed call, caught between a yell of rage and a wail of panic. “Shane Madej, stop! You don’t know what that could actually do!” He started to charge after Shane, who began to dance around, continuing to ramble loudly.

“... dicunt corpus meum, quod tuum est. Habent cum me domi!”

“Shut up, Shane! For fuck’s sake!” Ryan surged forward to tackle Shane, but the man was dexterous.

“Ego deditionem eam tibi libenter!” Shane soon straight up bolted for the stairs, his long legs comically pushing off the old floorboards with a pep in each step. “Veni foras, et laici dicunt!” His voice was growing louder as he neared the end of the spell, casting looks behind him to flash toothy smiles at Ryan and TJ, who was holding back his laughter.

“You’re insane!” 

“Veni foras, et iterum vivere!” With those last words spoken, Shane pivoted around on one foot, holding his arms up in the air triumphantly. He looked like he just won the Super Bowl, but Ryan didn’t give a shit.

At full force, Ryan finally made collision, barreling into Shane’s stomach as he wrapped muscular arms around his torso, tearing both of them down to the floor with a harsh thud. That was the moment TJ broke, and he started laughing uncontrollably. Shane made an indistinguishable groan, trying to suck air back into his lungs. Ryan popped up, bouncing slightly. “That’s what you get for being an idiot,” he huffed out, running his hand through his gelled back hair. While Shane rolled onto his side, letting out pained wheezes of laughter, Ryan gingerly picked up his phone. It survived, thank God. The page with the script was still open, taunting Ryan with their mysteries. 

“Worth it,” Shane barely wheezed out, using his inhumanly long arms to prop himself up before standing up to full height again. He loomed over Ryan once more, but it was never daunting. Shane knew that it didn’t matter much. Ryan could still break his arms if he really wanted to. “There was so much cunt in that incantation. How could you ever think that was real?”

Ryan just shot a hardened glare back at Shane, a frown set firmly on his face. “You have whatever’s coming to you.”

“I’m shaking in my boots!,” Shane says in a mocking tone, forcing a quiver in his voice. He dropped it fairly quickly and decided to just keep moving. “So, upstairs?”

Ryan grumbled a bit, shoving his phone forcibly back into his jean pocket. “Yeah. Grab the flashlights, you ass. We have ghosts to see.”

“Those shoes won’t pivot themselves!,” Shane expertly shot back, ducking back around into the house’s living room and picking up the two flashlights that had gotten abandoned on the floor at some point during the chase. TJ was already making his way up with Ryan, composing himself again to being a stoic cameraman. The small, cheap flashlights cast very small beams of light over to the other end of the room, catching the edges of chairs and several dinnerware props that were meticulously placed on a large table. In a second, the dumb things started to peter out, the yellowish light sputtering before dying, leaving Shane in the dark. “Wonderful. We really need to be better about bringing our good flashlights,” the tall man muttered, smacking the two small lights against his legs in hopes of jostling some of the parts inside into realigning. The room seemed to darken, clouds presumably drifting over the moon. It was chilling, but only for a moment. Only a second and the moment was over, and the lights coughed to life again.

“Shane! Get your long legs up here already!,” Ryan’s voice was muffled through the ceiling above.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second!” Shane wasn’t sure if he had said that loud enough for his friend to hear it, but it didn’t matter much. He just took long steps over to the staircase again, using his dual light action to effectively light his way as he skipped two stairs at a time. 

At the top, Shane used the flashlights to sweep over the area, the light bouncing off of Ryan’s grey sweater and navy blue jeans. His hands were on his hips, clearly not too pleased. It didn’t matter much. “How long does it take for you to get two lights?,” he asked under his breath. He reached out to grab one light like it would somehow supply him with more confidence.

“They went out when I picked them up, but I got them working again.” Shane’s voice was his usual mix of nonchalant and dismissive. He briskly walked down the hall, swerving around his smaller partner in crime.

“Wait, they went out? At the same time?”

When Shane glanced over his shoulder, he saw Ryan’s signature face, eyes as wide as the full moon and eyebrows pulled unbelievably high on his forehead. The taller man pressed his lips together, bobbing his head slightly in affirmation. “Yeah.”

“Did they turn on at the same time as well?” Ryan’s voice had a forceful lilt to it.

“Uh yeah, but I was beating them against my leg to get the light on again,” the skeptic reasoned away.

Ryan didn’t relax. “What if it was a ghost?”

Shane scoffed, his tone adopting a playful hook to it. “Oh yeah Ryan, because the ghosts would waste their precious energy on turning lights on and off without any real reason to.” He continued to walk, stopping in front of a worn, oak door that looked a little worse for wear. On the other side was the curator’s office, where they were going to do a simple evp session, before moving off to the director’s office, then back downstairs to spend the night in the Sitting Room.

Ryan sighed, stiffly stepping over to the door as well. “Maybe it was just eager to communicate.”

“Ryan… I hate to burst your bubble… But ghosts aren’t real.”

“Shut up, Shane and open the door.”

“Right.” Shane dipped his head down in resignation, grasping the old brass knob and pulled the door open. He held it there, gesturing for Ryan to get in. Ryan sauntered in wordlessly, focusing on taking deep breaths.

\--

“I hate this so much.”

“You need me to sing you a lullaby so you can sleep soundly?”

“You’re an asshole, Shane.”

“For trying to help my friend?”

“I know when someone is mocking me, and you sir, are mocking me.”

All Shane did was chuckle softly, energy effectively drained and sleep tugging at his eyelids. He made no move to provide an intelligent response to his friend, and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter much. 

Only a few feet away, Ryan shifted, his insulated sleeping bag scraping against itself and announcing every twitch the occupant made. The summer air was chilled, and again, the moon darkened. Something within Ryan jumped, clawing at his brain and forcing him to stare at the wall. “What-” he cut himself off to refocus his voice, and stop the tremble it had. “What was that?” This time it was lower as a way to try to calm himself.

Shane only responded with a frustrated groan before pulling his sleeping back over his head and zipped the cover all the way. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the loud scratching of Ryan’s sleeping bag as he muttered about what happened to get him to this point. It didn’t matter much. All Shane wanted to do was sleep despite the restlessness that build up in his joints. The biting cold of the night seeped into Shane’s cocoon of safety. It was immensely unwelcome, but he acclimated quickly. He took a deep breath, full and soothing. 

This was nice.

Spacious.

Warm.

Shane blinked his eyes open. His fingers felt like they were shoved into snow, and his skin begged for more protection. Since when was this warm?

It doesn’t matter much.

A run could help.

But he was so tired. 

But not. 

It doesn’t matter much.


	2. What's for Breakfast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane wakes up with a headache and voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for coming in for another chapter! Hope you all enjoy it!

Shane awoke with a headache, and the faintest memory that he had dreamed. What it was about, he couldn't quite remember. Whatever it was didn't agree with his brain, making it thump against Shane's skull. He was still burrowed into his sleeping bag, his body heat turning it into an oven. Groggily, he unzipped his bag and rolled out onto the cool wood flooring, still refusing to open his eyes up. The outside was was warm and humid, but chilly on Shane's exposed skin.

 

“Shane, get up, it's time we get going.” Shane opened one eye up to see Ryan, looming over him with a relieved smile on his face and his phone in his hand. The camera was angled down to focus on the half dead man on the floor. “Get up.” Ryan's shoe jabbed into Shane's side, eliciting a tired groan from the lanky meat sack. 

 

“Ryaaaaan this is abuse,” Shane whined pitifully, rolling onto his stomach to push himself up with his hands.

 

With a chuckle, Ryan stepped back to film his co-host stumble onto his feet. “Why are you so tired today? Don't you normally sleep like a baby on these overnights?”

 

Shane just waved Ryan off blearily, using his other hand to rub his forehead in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure that was built up during the night.

 

Ryan turned around so he could get both of them in the shot. “So Shane. Got anything to say to the ghosts here?”

 

Shane looked into the lens, blinking a few times as his mind ran a bit.

 

Better say something nice. 

 

He wouldn't be rude.

 

A joy, this place was a joy.

 

Now it's time to move on to better things.

 

It served us well.

 

“Oookay then, Shane. No need to get sentimental.” Ryan shot Shane a bewildered glance through narrowed eyes. “We've only been here a day.”

 

Shane was taken aback. “Did I say that out loud?!” He never talked without thinking. Not to mention those thoughts being so detached, like voices whispering in his ear.

 

Ryan's mouth parted slightly, now thoroughly confused. His eyebrows furrowed, before shaking his head. “Uh, yeah, you did.” He pressed his lips together in a firm line. “Well, let's go because I'm not willing to stick around here, unlike you apparently.” With that, Ryan ended the recording and stared at Shane again. “Are you okay, Shane? I've never seen you this out of it.” Ryan sounded genuinely concerned.

 

Shane just shook his head, rubbing his forehead again. “It's fine, just a headache.” 

 

Sorry.

 

Shane winced at the thought. Voice? Thought.

 

“Maybe some breakfast will help. What are you feeling today?,” Ryan asked, starting to roll up Shane's sleeping bag.

 

Once again, he was thrown into questionable thought, clenching his jaw tightly.

 

Shane felt like just having toast and maybe some bacon.

 

But he wasn't hungry.

 

But he was.

 

Oatmeal.

 

What's bacon?

 

He actually forgot what bacon was. Or did he?

 

“I-I don't know. What do you want?” Shane wasn't sure if he was asking Ryan.

 

There was an uncomfortable silence, till Ryan responded. “How about we just go to Denny's?”

 

“That’s the most agreeable thing you’ve said our entire trip,” Shane mused thoughtfully, a tired smile spreading on his face. He opted to not pay attention to every other part of him that complained about going somewhere they had never been. 

 

~~~

 

Denny’s was the worst idea Ryan had ever.

 

Shane was staring at the menu, and he was arguing with himself, or whoever, over what to have. One minute he wanted to try pancakes, but he wasn’t having any of that. Why would he ever want pancakes? They were terrible! Then he’d wan bacon and eggs while one part of him searched for any sort of oatmeal. He found himself eyeing eggs benedict with a strange hunger before snapping his gaze away in disgust. Pancakes, eggs, where’s the oatmeal? Over and over, his mind fought over it’s own desires, and Shane almost resigned himself to starving to death.

 

Well, he couldn’t do that!

 

I’m hungry though!

 

Rest easy, let’s not jump to extremes!

 

How about he just chooses?

 

But wasn’t he always the one choosing?

 

Of course.

 

We’ll be quiet.

 

Wait, ‘we’ll’?

 

Shane stole himself from the train of thoughts, finally picking out the waffles as his breakfast before he was lost in the sea of thoughts-voices?- again. He dropped the menu on the table, jabbing his finger into his selection. “I’m getting waffles,” Shane loudly declared, almost shouting it. His voice only drew the gazes of surrounding tables and Ryan. Nothing too major. It was nothing too major.

 

Ryan visibly sifted in his spot. “Sure man, get whatever you want.”

 

“I will.”

 

Waffles? 

 

I guess.

 

We’ll go along with it.

 

Shane rubbed his ears, brows furrowing deeper the more the rogue thoughts ran around his head.

 

The rest of breakfast was, thankfully, uneventful. When eating, Shane didn’t hear anything, or think anything. He put all of his focus on his crispy waffle that encompassed his plate. Ryan only glanced up occasionally, expecting something, but Shane would only smile back at him in triumphant glee. 

 

“What did you think of the Attmore-Oliver house?,” Ryan asked, despite already hearing Shane’s very unusual response from inside.

 

The taller man shrugged dismissively. “It was cool. The architecture was neat. I don’t think it was haunted though.”

 

Not anymore. 

 

Nope.

 

No one was left.

 

Shane’s jaw clenched and his eyes widened slightly. That was the last line in the sand that he needed. These thoughts weren’t his. He never thought the house was haunted. He never thought any place was haunted. Subconsciously, he gritted his teeth together and squeezed his fork.

 

If Ryan noticed Shane’s change in demeanor, he didn’t show it whatsoever. He began to rattle off about the evidence they got and the best bits. “You never think any place is haunted. I think we got some substantial evidence, in my eyes. I mean, the whispers in the dining room? Not to mention your flashlight story. I have pretty high hopes for the video of the overnight. All together, we got some chunks that should make a good video. Especially the incantation bit. That should get us some good reception.” He slowed his roll to check to see if Shane was still listening. Which he was. Very intently. So, as if he didn’t miss a beat, Ryan threw himself back into his one sided discussion.

 

Shane was a bit hyper focused on the conversation, using his friend to occupy his mind so the pesky voices couldn’t worm their way into his head. Not that they weren’t nice, he just didn’t understand how it happened, why it happened, or how it happened so fast. He didn’t want to understand at the moment. The moment he started thinking the voices would fade back in. He just needed to remain distracted till he was alone. Well, relatively so. It was obvious that the voices could break through to speak if he was too deep in thought and not using his mouth.That increased the importance of being isolated when he tried to find answers. He didn’t want those voices to start spilling out and weirding out Ryan again. But at the moment, all Shane could do was listen to Ryan.

 

~~~

 

The plane ride was harrowing. The voices were persistent, confused and bewildered by everything around them like children. Shane did his best to quell them with Netflix and memes, but they would poke and prod at every aspect. What was the screen? Was he a witch? He was hungry, but he wasn’t, over and over his mind flipped about between each state of being like a microphone being passed around in a circle. He went to the bathroom on the plane probably 5 too many times to mutter to himself, and let the voices have their fun with his throat before going out. It only quieted them all for about 15 minutes before they entered a gradual crescendo, clamoring about in Shane’s head again. He didn’t looked over at Ryan the entire ride back to LA. He didn’t need to see the confused and irritated glances that he got from his co-worker. 

 

When they broke off to go home for the day, Shane let out a relieved sigh, shoulders sinking slightly. He sauntered across the airport and onto the shuttle to economy parking. He only had a few hours till he got to his apartment, which meant a few more hours of dealing with the annoying voices. They’d talk to him, each other, themselves. They’d even begin to try to talk to the people around him on the shuttle. Shane could only guess that this was what having children was like.

 

Once he was out on the open road, all hell broke loose. He no longer tried to restrict the voices, which meant they ran amok on his larynx. 

 

“Finally letting me speak up, are you? About time! I was starting to think this wasn’t a good place.

 

No need to be rude.

 

Hush up, this is a person.

 

Well, we all are this person.

 

You all aren’t me!

 

Well now we are!

 

I’m not going anywhere. 

 

Neither am I.

 

You should have more respect.

 

I have plenty of respect for him!

 

You sound ungrateful. All of you.

 

I am grateful!

 

Are you now?

 

Of course!

 

I’m grateful!

 

I feel the same way!

 

You all sure don’t act like it.

  
How about we all keep quiet while  _ I  _ drive us home?” After that, the voices stopped passing Shane’s voice around, and silence filled the air. It hung there for the rest of the ride, no one within Shane’s head daring to utter a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it to the end! Next chapter should come out within a month after a couple of one shots and chapter updates for my Demon Shane fic and Doll Shane fic! And maybe, there'll be a detective Bergara coming.
> 
> Who knows?
> 
> Have a nice day, stay healthy!


	3. Super Natural or the Supernatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane comes to terms with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to initially apologize for the quality and length of this chapter. Honestly, what I wanted to achieve in this chapter was just too little to make longer but not so little that I could include the next chuck because that would make it too long. Also, I just have been feeling terrible about my writing recently so I don't know if this chapter is actually good or if everything my brain is saying about it is true so yeah. 
> 
> Critique is very much needed at this point.
> 
> I hope you can enjoy this.

Shane had his fingers set on the keys of his laptop, hastily typing into the Google search bar about voices your head and what it could mean; meanwhile, his own voices muttered to each other. He didn’t take any of what the sites said seriously due to the development of, the voices could actually use his voice box. All of the websites kept saying that the voices were confined into the headspace, and never traveled outwards into some form of outward expression. It was frustrating to Shane, not being able to at least label whatever illness he contracted within the span of one night. 

It didn’t take long for Shane to just give up and close the lid, focusing on the personalities bickering about.

_ I’m comfortable _

_ Well I’m not _

_ Who cares _

_ Sit down and shut up already _

_ No one tells me what to do _

_ I wasn’t talking to you _

_ Then who the fuck are you talking to  _

_ Him _

_ What? I’m fine like this _

_ I’m not shut up! You’re as annoying as ever _

_ I’m hungry _

_ You’re always hungry _

_ We never got oatmeal _

_ Will you shut up about the oatmeal _

“Alright!” Shane cut in, unnecessarily speaking out loud. “Let’s get off each other for five minutes and get ourselves organized! And whoever is hungry, don’t worry, I am too.” With that, Shane began to walk towards his kitchen, opening the fridge to look at his options. “Now, one person at a time, tell me your names so I can actually know who’s talking at any given time. Sound good?”

There was a murmur of agreement, and the sensation of his mouth disobeying Shane’s will.

“The name is Samuel Chapman, I-”

“Wait a minute!” Shane felt bad for cutting the voice off, but there were much more pressing matters at hand. “Samuel Chapman? Like the Samuel Chapman who was the first owner of the Attmore-Oliver House?”

“Why, yes of course. Who else was supposed to be in that house?” Samuel sounded genuinely confused. Shane’s body stopped all movement in favor of gripping the fridge, the cold air from inside spilling out and biting at his skin, but that was the least of Shane’s worries at the moment. 

Then, Shane let out an abrupt laugh. “No, no. That’s not… No none of this is possible. I’m… Just, no!” He pulled back, steps blind and clumsy. “No this is something… My brain is just… I’m just crazy. That’s it. I’ve finally gone insane! At least that’s more logical than… fuck… Yeah, I’m just crazy!” His body hit a counter, the corner of which jabbed into his side. Shane did nothing to acknowledge the harsh edge digging into him. The refrigerator began to make a bing noise in an attempt to alert anybody that it was still open. Still, Shane was too preoccupied with his rationalization. The other voices were painfully silent, letting Shane run circles around his mind while babbling incoherently and throwing in the odd laugh or scoff here and there.

It took a couple of minutes for the voices to realize that Shane wasn’t going to stop until something made him stop.

_ Host Shane, _ Samuel started carefully.  _ Perhaps you should slow down and consider- _

“Consider what?! That ghosts are real? Do you know how irrational that is!?”

_ More irrational than you talking to yourself? _

“Ghosts are definitely ten times more irrational then that, Sam!”

_ My name is Samuel. _

“Screw you, Sam!”

Another voice chimed in, more feminine in sound.  _ I agree with Samuel. You should at least look at the facts. _

Shane cleared his throat, rubbing his palms over his face. “Okay. Who are you?”

_ Mary Attmore. I lived in the house you barged into with my husband for a while. _

Shane could only chuckle wryly, one hand gripping at the shorter tufts of hair on his temple. “Of fucking course, you are.”

_ Sir, will you at least hear the other side? _ She asked delicately, but there was a certain inflection that suggested that she would say her piece no matter what Shane said. So, he opted to say nothing, letting Mary have the mental floor.  _ You recited some weird, devilish incantation, and then acquired a group of independent personalities that claim to be the souls of those who have already passed? Do you not see some sort of correlation there? _

The suggestion was ridiculous enough that Shane felt like he could laugh, but all that came out was a whine. His legs no longer felt like supporting the new weight of reality upon him and gave out. Shane hit the ground, back still pressing into the counter. Both hands began tugging at his hair. “You don’t understand it’s not… It’s impossible. There’s science… There’s reality. Ghosts aren’t real. There is no science… no facts there’s nothing! You don’t understand, they don’t exist!” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at anything anymore. Reality didn’t feel real anymore. Nothing felt real anymore.

_ Host Shane.  _ It was Samuel again.  _ Things change. Facts come to light. The sooner you accept that the sooner this all will get better.  _

_ Maybe we should change the subject. Host Shane is getting distressed.  _ It was another female voice, different from Mary, a bit younger sounding.  _ Oh, and I’m Mary as well, but I’m Mary Oliver. You can call me Miss Mary though. _

“Right. Miss Mary, Mary, Sam. Who else is in here?” Shane sounded drained, but composure was beginning to creep in.

_ I am George S. Attmore, at your service. Husband to Mary, not Miss Mary.  _ Posher voice, sounding a bit like a butler in cartoons.

_ Hannah Taylor Oliver.  _ Crisp and clean, with a certain cheery lilt in her voice.

_ And the final would be me, William Hollister Oliver. Hannah’s husband. _ Will’s voice was huskier and deep, the image of a lumberjack coming to mind.

Shane nodded, seemingly placid as he stood up and sauntered back to his laptop where his phone was. He picked it up, powering the screen on quickly typing out the number for his doctor.

_ Host Shane? What are you doing?  _ Mary gently inquired. Shane could feel his eyebrows furrow.

“I’m calling my doctor,” the vessel stated blandly Panic was gone from his voice, but so was every other emotion. “I need to figure out what’s wrong with me.” He held his phone up to his ear and listened to the rings.

_ A doctor? Are you suggesting this body is sick?  _ Will spoke gruffly, sounding ready to fight Shane for daring to let an infection slip in. 

“Yeah, sick in the head. Obviously, I don’t know what is going on so hopefully, I can get a psychiatrist to dig around and see what’s up and what’s down?” The other end clicked in, and Shane redirected his attention to the office on the other end. “Hello, I would like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Heimstead.” The others did their best to talk Shane down, garbling themselves up while he focused on the assistant’s voice. “Right. Sounds good. Thank you. Goodbye.” Just like that, he hung up.

_ Host Shane, _ Sam started.  _ I ask that you reconsider the ghost option. _

_ I agree with Sam. I know what I am. We all do. What about this makes you dissuaded from believing this fact?  _ Mary cut in again.

Shane sighed, putting pressure on his eyes as if to alleviate some of it from his head. “Because, Mary. Ghosts. Are not. Scientific. There is no proof. There is absolutely nothing concrete pointing to them being real. If you all are really ghosts, then why don’t you float off and knock over something? Huh? You guys never make your presence known in any convincing way. You guys make it impossible for me to believe in you.” Heat was added back into Shane’s tone, but not nearly to the extent from before, which everyone was grateful for to some degree. 

Hannah sighed.  _ I guess I can understand? _

_ I can’t,  _ Sam stated bluntly. 

“Well, that’s your problem, Sam,” Shane muttered.

_ Stop calling me Sam! My name is Samuel. _

“If it bothers you so much, Sam, then leave.” Shane stood, stumbling wearily to his bedroom. “Still, I’m going to the doctor’s office in 3 days. It’s a Wednesday at 11, so I’ll have to skip work…” As he mumbled it out, the realization that he had to go to BuzzFeed in that condition hit him hard, only piling on the fatigue. “Good god, I have to go to work with you guys,” he managed to hiss out before he shoved his limbs into the blankets. “A problem for morning Shane…” was the last words he got out as he drifted off. Of course, everyone else was still wide awake, but let his soul rest regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and all the jazz that you do. Please, stay healthy. Someone out there cares about you.

**Author's Note:**

> See you next time!


End file.
